Answer:
Without a bridle, or a saddle, across a thing I ride a-straddle. And those I ride, by help of me, though almost blind, are made to see.
I open wide and tight I shut, Sharp am I and paper-cut fingers too, so do take care, I'm good and bad, so best beware.
I wear a red robe, with staff in hand, and a stone in my throat.
When the son of the water returns to the parent, it dies. What is it?
What doesn't get any wetter, no matter how much rain falls on it?
In birth I spring forth, in life I unfold. In death I wilt and die, but rebirth restores all.